y from barrels and unforeseen places, and
wedging and bumping between us, they shouted: "Chicken-legs! Ah, look at
the chicken-legs!"

For a sensitive moment I feared they were speaking of me; but the
folding slat-doors of the saloon burst open outward, and a giant
barkeeper came among the boys and caught and shook them to silence.

"You want to behave," was his single remark; and they dispersed like a
Sunday-school.

I did not see why they should thus describe him. He stood and nodded to
us, and jerked big thumb towards the departing flock. "Funny how a boy
will never think," said he, with amiability. "But they'll grow up to be
about as good as the rest of us, I guess. Don't you let them monkey with
you, Josey!" he called.

"Naw, I won't," said a voice. I turned and saw, by a barrel, a youth in
knee-breeches glowering down the street at his routed enemies. He
was possibly eight, and one hand was bound in a grimy rag. This was
Chickenlegs.

"Did they harm you, Josey?" asked the giant.

"Naw, they didn't."

"Not troubled your hand any?"

"Naw, they didn't."

"Well, don't you let them touch you. We'll see you through." And as
we followed him in towards our drink through his folding slat-doors he
continued discoursing to me, the newcomer. "I am against interfering
with kids. I like to leave 'em fight and fool just as much as they see
fit. Now them boys ain't malicious, but they're young, you see, they're
young, and misfortune don't appeal to them. Josey lost his father last
spring, and his mother died last month. Last week he played with a
freight car and left two of his fingers with it. Now you might think
that was enough hardship."

"Indeed yes," I answered.

"But the little stake he inherited was gambled away by his stinking old
aunt."

"Well!" I cried.

"So we're seeing him through."

"You bet," said a citizen in boots and pistol, who was playing
billiards.

"This town is not going to permit any man to fool with Josey," stated
his opponent in the game.

"Or women either," added a lounger by the bar, shaggy-bearded and also
with a pistol.

"Mr. Abe Hanson," said the barkeeper, presenting me to him. "Josey's
father's partner. He's took the boy from the aunt and is going to see
him through."

"How 'r' ye?" said Mr. Hanson, hoarsely, and without enthusiasm.

"A member of the prize-awarding committee," explained Stuart, and waved
a hand at me.

They all brightened up and came round me.

"Hear